The Perfect Picture
by Gelsey
Summary: One Shot. Blaise Zabini asks a very important question. Pure fluff.


The Perfect Picture

by Gelsey

A/N: A short birthday ficlet for a friend.

Blaise stared into the camera, face schooled to its usual enigmatic, mysterious expression. She felt like he was staring straight through the lens and into her very soul, his gaze was so intense. It made her heart beat just that much faster and took her breath away.

Though perhaps the latter was due to how he looked sitting there. The lighting was perfect–in all the years she had been taking pictures, she had never had this exact, perfect lighting. It made long shadows extend from the columns of the porch railings and hit his skin in that ... exact, inexplicable, beautiful, perfect way.

It gleamed a dark caramel-machiato sort of colour, shadowed to the enhancement of his fine features. His bare feet made him look almost vulnerable, in a way, and sky-rocketed the sexiness factor. Her boss would be thrilled. Posed so casually, with that exquisite lighting ... _he_ was perfect. Beautiful, mysterious ... alluring and oh-so-handsome.

Her last picture snapped, she simply lowered the camera, throat tight with emotion that the scene evoked. She finally came out of her trance when Blaise raised one elegant eyebrow at her in question. He was so good at that, his expressions saying as much as his speech ever did.

She flushed slightly and he smirked, and suddenly the sun was a bit higher and the lighting wasn't as perfect any more. "Finished," she said, voice cheerful. "I think I got some wonderful pictures for the most eligible bachelor spread."

He sighed as if put upon and she rolled her eyes at him, reading in his exhalation all of his annoyance about having that particular 'honor' being given to him.

She walked over and set the camera on the wrought iron table, smiling down at him. "Thanks for being such a good sport about this, Mr. Zabini," she said.

Her words finally propelled him to speak. "I thought I told you to call me Blaise," he said in that low, smooth, dead sexy voice of his as he reached out to play with the hem of her shirt with his long fingers.

"You did," she said, breath catching slightly. She couldn't help but move a little closer, her eyes caught by his dark ones.

"Then why ... call me that now?" he asked, voice soft.

She felt a pull to answer the velvet tone, so evocative. "I ... professional situation?" It came out breathy and more like a question than an answer.

He chuckled, the sound rich and deep. "But we haven't been ... professional ... in quite some time, now have we?" he replied as his fingers slipped under her shirt to tease skin instead of clothe.

The sound she made was somewhere between a sigh and a moan. It was true; they'd been in a relationship, albeit a discreet one, ever since she had been sent to cover that dreadfully boring fund-raiser two years ago. They had both fled the inanity and ended up in the same place, and had surprisingly hit it off quite well.

Her response to him had immediate consequences–she was tugged down into his lap. She squealed in surprise, arms automatically settling around his neck as their lips met. They snogged quite heatedly for a long moment before simply resting forehead against forehead. She knew his lips were graced with that small smile that he wore only in her company, that gentle curving of lips that she'd learned meant he was truly happy.

He shifted slightly, reaching to get something from his pocket. She made a soft noise at the tantalizing movement but it was cut off by her own gasp as she saw what he'd withdrawn.

It was a ring, gold, and the large diamond glittered in the rising sun. Her eyes filled with equally sparkling tears as she put a hand over her mouth. "Oh Blaise ... it's lovely," she managed to say.

He raised that eyebrow again, just a little, and she could read the worry in the familiar gesture. "Yes, you ruddy silly man ... of course I'll marry you!" She leaned in and captured him, pouring all her happiness into the kiss, and pulled back only when she started to laugh.

"You prat!" she said, smacking his shoulder gently. "You've been waiting until it was too late to stop this article, weren't you?"

Her accusation was met with a smirk. "Rascal," she said fondly. "You're going to disappoint so many witches who get their hopes up when they read that article." Oh, he was so handsome when he was smug like this. She brushed her lips against his again, still amused, and looked at him from her perch in his lap.

She'd been wrong, before ... this, him, now, was the best picture she'd ever seen. The play of early morning light on his face, his beautiful, smooth skin, the love in his eyes ... this was the perfect picture.

She didn't reach for the camera, however. Occasionally some pictures were best recorded only in the mind ... and she never wanted to forget this one.


End file.
